Brotherly Love
by Darkiepunk
Summary: A collection of drabbles and ficlets that explore the what if. If Vergil hadn't fallen at the end of DMC3, how would he and Dante get along? No pairings, just pure, unadulterated Sparda boy bickering.
1. Blood Bond

Dante found that he rather preferred the rush of weightlessness he experienced during his ascent to the rush of the ground he was now experiencing as he left the demon world. The weathered stone top of the Temen-ni-gru was approaching much too fast for his liking, and at the last minute he managed to bend his knees, absorbing the shock of his feet slamming into the stone.

As it was, he still faltered a little, pitching forward as the momentum of his descent reverberated through his body. Dante rested there for a moment on his hands and knees, his mind blissfully blank as fatigue settled in.

After a moment, he stood and took a look around. The top of the massive tower looked a lot different in the daytime, the statues that had risen to the top stood out in stark relief against the pale sky, and if he looked up, he could still see the slowly closing rift that led to the demon world.

Vergil…

Dante shook his head. His brother had made his choice; he'd chosen to take the fall.

But where was Dante's choice in all this?

Sure, he'd reached for him, tried to snag even the smallest leverage on his brother's silken coat.

Vergil had chosen to slice his hand.

But he had another, right? He'd taken worse hits than that, surely he could have recovered enough to reach out with his other, unwounded hand.

Why hadn't he? Vergil had left him no choice, Vergil had always tried to make his decisions. Always being the older sibling, thinking that his younger brother didn't have enough wits to choose.

He was tired of it.

Dante blinked suddenly, stopping in his tracks. He had already made it halfway to the stairs that led up to the dais and he hadn't even realized it. A sudden clenching of his fist caused the gash on his hand to ooze a few droplets of blood out onto the ground, and Dante found himself fascinated by it.

His blood…

Sparda's blood….

Vergil's blood…

Dante'd made up his mind; he was going after his brother. It was his choice, damnit, and it was his brother.

His blood.

His twin.


	2. Desperation

The blades were singing, and if anyone had bothered to attempt to touch the blades willingly, they would've found them sizzling. Turning the blood and gore on the blades into a tacky glue-like substance. Vergil knew it was going to be difficult to wipe off later, but right now all he cared about was surviving. So be it if he had to sit for a few hours to flake the blood off of Yamato.

If he listened closely, he could hear the faint sounds of Dante's cocky laughter drifting in the blood-scented air, punctuated with loud cracks of gun fire from Ebony and Ivory. At least someone was having fun.

As for Vergil, he was exhausted, having already been fighting his way out of the Underworld, inch by agonizing inch for the past few days. He'd made a mistake, taking the fall into the depths of Hell. Dante knew it. And he knew it. That was enough for him; he'd never admit it out loud.

The elder son of Sparda leaned heavily on Yamato; he didn't know how much longer his battered body could take this. He'd pushed himself to his limits, beyond and probably a few realms past, as a matter of fact.

"Hey. Look alive over there, Verg!"

Vergil managed to smother a snarl. His brother's voice was grating even in the heat of battle. And he detested, loathed the moniker of 'Verg.' He had a full name. Would another syllable liquefy his brother's brains?

Probably.

Once again, he hefted Yamato, slicing through the oncoming demons with less ease than he would've liked. There was a sudden blurring of his vision, and Vergil thought for a horrified moment that he was about to lose consciousness. Blurred vision? That's what the humans said happened, right?

He couldn't lose consciousness. Not with Dante standing just a few feet away, guns blazing as he mowed down rows of demons. He'd never live it down; it'd be the topic of Dante's conversation for years.

"Hey VER, remember that time you fainted?"

No, Vergil wouldn't be able to take that. He watched the oncoming ring of demons with something akin to horror, or at least as close to horror as Vergil got. There was a sudden pressure at his temples, and his movements seemed to slow down considerably. He was positive Yamato hadn't even made it out from the billowing of his coat, where he always seemed to conceal it. He blinked, or tried to, he couldn't even feel himself moving anymore.

Dante was turning slowly to look at him, the demons were still moving in, and Vergil was losing consciousness.

It looked like Dante was about to say something to him, there was a slow upturning of his mouth that suggested he was about to break into his normal self-assured grin. He really was such a bastard, and when Vergil woke up, he was going to cram both Ebony and Ivory down his throat.

But just as he'd resigned himself to his fate, wound up his courage to fall on his face in the middle of the Underworld, the pressure was gone along with the lethargy that had plagued him seconds before. The demons that had surrounded him in his torpid state were gone, and in their place was another.

His brother was grinning at his puzzled look, "Quicksilver…" he said, as if that explained everything.

Vergil frowned at him. He was going to kill him, but he gave him a slight nod anyway. That was as close as he got to a thank you.

Dante charged past him, disappearing in a swarm of oncoming Prides. He didn't see his twin again for a few minutes, but he was wrestling his own demons. The steady rate at which his brother was cutting them down rejuvenated Vergil's reserves, allowing him to dig deeper than he thought possible, perhaps touching on their father's powerful legacy, some unseen, unknown reserve of strength.

The crimson hue of the underworld was slowly fading out as they moved further away from its heart. The legions showed no signs of thinning out, however. Mundus apparently had little regard for his foot soldiers, as he sent them uncaringly into their deaths, hoping to wear the duo out. Why settle for one Sparda, when you could get the entire set?

Icing on the cake.

Vergil and Dante were back to back in the midst of the horde, and it showed no sign of thinning out.

"Verg, this is starting to get a little redundant…" Dante said conversationally as he decapitated a Sloth demon

The use of the name caused Vergil to grind his teeth angrily as a Pride impaled itself on Yamato. "Brother, I'm impressed you actually know what that word means." He ground out, flicking Yamato's elegant blade to clear the gore off it.

He could feel Dante chuckle against his back. "Do you have any suggestions for getting out of here, then? You are the one who came charging in here after me."

"Hey, bro, I figured you had a plan." Dante accused, moving away for a moment to perform a perfect Stinger technique.

Vergil stifled a sound of disgust. Could his brother not plan anything? He couldn't even rescue people correctly.

It was at that moment that a powerful explosion ripped through the crowd of demons to Vergil's right. The shockwave crashed into him, sending his exhausted form careening into Dante and taking him down for the ride.

"Jesus fuck!" Dante bellowed as they toppled to the ground.

Immediately, Dante was up and swinging to keep the demons from closing in on them, leaving Vergil exhausted and in pain on the ground. He hated to admit it, but he just wanted it to be over, he wanted to leave and frankly just go to sleep.

Vergil managed to get to his feet after a few more seconds of seated bliss. He was dangerously near the furthest reaches of his abilities; some of his wounds were not healing as quickly as they should. He could see a few streaks of blood on Dante as well.

"Vergil," Dante began, the use of his correct name actually getting his attention. "Can you trigger?"

Vergil felt his bone-weariness, but underneath it all he felt his demonic blood itching for a fight. His demon wouldn't heal his wounds, and as tired as he was the demon probably would leave him unconscious with its exit, but it would put up a better fight than he could manage by himself.

He raised his chin, a gesture full of more defiance and surety than he felt, "That was a ridiculous question."

Dante peered at him intently, not quite sure whether or not to believe his bravado. Ultimately, he had to take Vergil at his word; it was their last chance. If they couldn't get out after having taken their demonic forms, then they were doomed. They both understood the desperation behind their actions. Finally, he rolled his eyes and called the Beowulf gauntlets to him, "Let's rock, Verg."

"Stop calling me that, 'Te." Vergil snarled derisively.

The demon came as it always did. A rush, a spark of electricity that ran through him like a jolt; it was like being struck by lightning that was frigid, a liquefied glacier that ran through his veins and energized him beyond any drug the humans could fathom. He was invincible, powerful, and bloodthirsty.

He was moving in a time frame beyond his brother. He was concentrating on a point beyond the limited circle of demons that had surrounded them. There was a moment of void, of absolute nothingness and then he was there on the outer edge of the horde. If he looked close enough he could see the flashes of light generated by Dante's gauntlets as he slammed powerfully into the other demons.

Vergil smiled smugly to himself; this was the true power of Sparda. The demons hadn't even realized he was flanking them. He concentrated a bit, mapping out a route in his head and with a bit more concentration he was moving through the legion with ease. He was cutting a demon down, and then he was past them, making quick work of a large portion of the crowd between himself and his brother.

The elder Sparda ground to a halt suddenly, the demon was withdrawing. It was too soon! He needed it, as much as he hated to admit that he was relying so heavily on something. He pushed himself and the demon a little more, and managed to deliver a flawless Judgement cut with Yamato, projecting dark energy into the mass of demons in front of him. The technique cost him his remaining energy, and the demon withdrew in a movement that left Vergil reeling the last few feet to Dante.

Agni's blade stopped mere inches from decapitating him before Dante realized who it was that'd landed beside him.

Vergil couldn't look him in the eyes. He'd lost his hold on the demon. He was effectively human for the duration of this battle until he regained his strength. Instead, he looked forlornly at the remaining demons. They were going to die down here; the battle would be over once Dante lost control of his demon. Mundus would find them, bloodied and weakened.

The prospect terrified Vergil, and that sudden cold feeling in the pit of his stomach fueled him far more than any anger or resentment had before. He stood up, angry with himself, furious that mere demons could inspire such desolation and, dare he say it, fear in him.

He was a son of Sparda, and he bowed to no one. Human or demon.


End file.
